POESIA CLÀSSICA I CONTEMPORÀNIA
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ELEVATOR CONVERSATION

Adell i Pitarch, Joan Elies

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Today I only have words for a winter
that hasn’t started yet. Words for October
strangeness when the cold just hasn’t come.
The closet is begging for change, the summer clothes
were bored with. Winter coats patiently pile up
expecting the arrival of solid freezing wind.
I only have words for layers of low clouds
that cover each other, staging a show for me
of simultaneous skies, of a civilized sun
prompting me to sit peacefully at a sidewalk café
as if someone were waiting for me and the wait
were part of some odd sense of joy.
Words for speaking of nothing, or for transplanting
a new heart into me that won’t beat the same
as yesterday, only occasionally, with the precision
of a surgeon’s skill. My voice stumbles,
I can feel it as well, harsh like a revolving door
at a hotel far too old and it changes into a hindrance
capable of attracting the rotation of stars. To feel
contact will be enough for a proper diagnosis.
To touch the water as you touch a body to close
the wound of a hemorrhaging life. For a foreseeable
elevator conversation today I have only a few words.
A weather bulletin flushed with ruthless and routine warmth
Subir